Maybe More
by Ridley Jack
Summary: Draco follows an unknowing Harry outside on an early winter Saturday. What's come over Draco? Why is Harry lurking, under all things, the Whomping Willow? Actually, that question is never answered. Other questions, though, are.


_Thank you, Jinni dahlink for beta-ing, you did a mahvalous job. _

_I'm not so sure about this story, because I was rereading it, and I'm actually not too pleased with it. I wrote it days ago, because it snowed for the first time, and apparently I subconsciously decided to delay posting it until the fourth movie came out so it would be lost in the influx of stories._

_But anyways, I don't think the story's so hot. Seems a bit rushed, or obscure, or something arcane like that. Maybe it's just me, because I'm the author, and it didn't turn out how I would have liked it to._

_How many people have seen the movie? I saw it on Saturday, with a couple friends. Great movie, horrible adaptation. Though I must say I enjoy these grown up actors much better than those eleven year old ones. (No offence to those eleven year old readers.) :sighs wistfully:

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Maybe More

_Ridley Jack_

Draco stared out across the grounds, straining to see past where his breath fogged the window. Outside was a literal winter wonderland. The lake wasn't frozen over, and probably never would, but the area around it was snow-covered and so blissful looking. Even the Whomping Willow looked tranquil on this early Saturday morning.

Draco snorted. Who would ever guess that he was capable of thoughts like that? That he could think of other things besides the prestigious Malfoy heritage, Death Eaters, Dark Arts and those startling green eyes topped with that unruly thatch of black hair…

Draco blushed furiously; glad no one was in the room to witness the faint blush his thoughts brought. He'd given up on trying to deny them ages ago, and now only tried to restrain _when_ he thought them, which was rather hard when those thoughts were composed of almost devastatingly embarrassing mental images.

He blanked his mind again and looked out upon the glistening grounds. He frowned as he spotted footprints marring the beautiful landscape.

Who dare—his mind half formed the angry question before he saw the person making the prints. Or, rather, _didn't_ see him.

"Potter," he whispered victoriously, smirking.

He didn't know what he thought he was doing. Tell on him? Get him served so many detentions he'd never be around for Draco to pester? Confess his undying love for him? Not that it was love, of course.

Scrambling for warm winter clothes and not finding much else besides his old cloak, he crept quietly out of the still sleeping dorm, careful not to wake anyone up.

Once outside he shivered as a blast of cold hit him.

"Jeez, Potter," he grimaced, and used the prints before him to make his way. "You sure picked the coldest day, didn't you?"

He followed the footprints around the lake to the …Whomping Willow!

How would he—or, more probable, _why_ did he? Then again, this was the famous Potter here, The-Bloody-Boy-Who-Lived-to-Ignore-and-Annoy-Me.

Draco resisted the urge to scratch his head in bemusement. That action was not befitting a Malfoy. He peered through the branches, devoid of snow (the Willow didn't like to be weighed down. Reduced its reaction speed) and thought he saw a dark figure crouched down near the base of the tree.

Curiosity overcame him and he started forward, forgetting why the call the Willow the _Whomping_ Willow. Only his Quidditch skills saved him, and in the nick of time.

"Argh!" came the most un-Malfoy-ish, most girlish scream, issuing from none other than his lips.

The dark figure jumped to his feet. "What do you want?" Potter demanded.

"How did you get in there?" Draco asked, his curiosity brimming.

"None of your business," he replied, sounding taken-aback. "Why?" the word sounded forced out.

Draco shrugged and started to turn around, wondering why he bothered. Why did he even come out here? Did he want to get Potter in trouble? Did he hope that Harry held the same feelings he did?

"Wait!" Harry yelled.

Draco stopped dead. "What?" he asked hesitantly. His heart pumped furiously within his chest, heating his pale face. A cool, icy fist plunged itself deep into his stomach and decided that it would be fun to stir the contents about, creating the most unpleasant sensation. He slowly reversed his turn and watched warily as Harry pushed a knob on the side of the tree.

The wildly swinging branches froze. Draco watched the branches suspiciously and lifted a foot.

"Hurry up! It doesn't last for long," Harry snapped.

Draco refrained from snapping back, his attention solely on the branches above his head. He ran the last few steps, narrowly missing being thwacked soundly.

He stumbled on a root the Willow raised vindictively and waited for the face full of freezing snow that was sure to come.

The air whooshed out of his lungs as he clutched at Harry's robes.

"Thanks," he said breathlessly, taking longer than necessary to find his balance, giving him an excuse to be close to Harry.

Harry released him quickly when he was fully upright and he barely head back a sigh.

"I thought you didn't like the cold," he commented pleasantly, adding to the number of surprises the two would receive that day.

Harry shrugged. "Reminds me of someon—thing," he corrected hastily. Draco peered through his lashes at the boy and wondered who the lucky person could be.

He looked up and Harry quickly averted his magnificent green eyes.

"What?" he asked, more harshly than he'd intended.

"Nothing," Harry muttered.

Silence reigned as the two watched snow drift gently down. Draco shuddered unconsciously from the cold that was seeping through his fur-lined cloak, that was, for some reason, not enough against the bitter chill.

"Here," Harry said gruffly, and draped his cloak over Draco's shoulders.

Draco stiffened. "No thanks," he started to reject. Malfoys' took no charity, even if it was from the man of Draco's dreams.

"Just take it!" Harry exploded. He looked as if he was going to say more but stopped himself.

"What if I want something else?" Draco whispered, unable to stop himself.

Harry's scent was rising from his cloak, which was pressed against the side of his face, mingling with the brisk, clean smell of winter.

"What?" Harry rasped, looking like a veritable deer struck in headlights, as Muggles would say.

"Nothing," Draco echoed.

"You want… something else?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Maybe," he hedged.

"What?" he insisted softly.

Draco didn't know who was commanding his mouth, but it sure wasn't him. "More."

"More?" Harry repeated.

"Maybe," he hedged again.

Harry's eyes gazed deeply into his own. Burning emerald bored into smouldering silver. Draco didn't know who moved first, only that they were mere inches apart.

"Only maybe?" Harry asked again.

"Maybe more," Draco whispered, warm breath blending with Harry's.

Their noses touched, the icy tips lighting a fire that shook the boys through and through.

"Definitely more," Draco got out before he pushed his lips against Harry's. Draco brought his arms up and the cloak slipped unheeded to the cool ground. Harry's fingers were threading their way through his hair, which he forgot to brush back in his hurry to get outside. He gently stroked Harry's back, eliciting a moan from the boy. Draco took that opportunity to slip his tongue into Harry's sweet mouth.

Their tongues fought an ancient and sacred battle for dominance. Draco wasn't sure who had the upper hand, but he was enjoying it thoroughly. If the soft sighs coming from Harry were any clues, he'd say Harry was enjoying it just as much.

Harry pulled back slightly and smiled softly. He leaned back in for a gently kiss that soon erupted into flames. Draco was, frankly surprised all the snow around them hadn't been evaporated.

Another scorching struggle was about to begin when suddenly—

Suddenly they were splayed yards from the Willow, who was waving its branches in malevolent triumph, looking for all the world like he was about to sprout a face that sneered at them in cruel laughter.

Draco scowled, but smiled when Harry started to laugh. Soon the boys were laughing hysterically together, and anyone passing by would have thought that the ebony- and ivory-headed boys were best friends. Or, judging by the way they were starting to lean towards each other, a solemn expression on their faces, something a little more special than just friends.

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_Gah! I don't like this story! It's too... I dunno, _weird


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